Calgon, Take Me Away
by Samantha14
Summary: Inspiration hits in the middle of the night, leaving him alone. So he follows her and gets her to rectify the situation. Ramble On RoryDave.


**Title**: Calgon, Take Me Away  
**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.  
**Summary**: Inspiration hits in the middle of the night, leaving him alone. So he follows her and gets her to rectify the situation. Ramble On (Rory/Dave).  
**Author's Note**: I dunno. Inspiration just hit me in the middle of the night. And so I wrote this nice little ficlet, inspired in part by Tinuviel Henneth, the wonderful original Rory/Dave writer. I decided I'd take her cue, because, for once, I wanted to do something different. Enough feedback and questions and I just might expand this story, forwards and/or backwards.

* * *

He groans as he rolls over. When his hand hits the empty pillow next to him, he cocks one eye open. He is sure--absolutely sure--that he wentto sleep with two full pillows. He rolls back over and checks his clock. 3:37. AM. He shakes his head and sat up, certain that he knows where to find her.

He gathers the remaining blanket--the sheet being downstairs, of course--and wraps it around his bare bottom half, before grabbing the two empty champagne flutes from her bedside table and walking downstairs.

He sets the glasses delicately in the kitchen sink, before following the once-familiar and now long forgotten noise of clacking computer keys to the study. Sure enough, there she is, her long dark hair falling beautifully over her bare shoulders, the rest of her covered by the missing sheet. Her fingers fly over the keyboard, a sight he is happy to see, as it's been so long.

While he is watching, she pauses, the top half of her screen filled with words and the cursor blinking at her. She picks up a small strand of her hair and deposits it in her mouth, a move that has accompanied weeks of writer's block as of late.

Sure enough, she sighs, and leans back in her chair, her arms folded across her chest as she glares at the screen. As she starts choking on her hair, he decides to make his presence known.

"That's not very healthy, you know."

She doesn't turn to look at him, but instead pulls her hair from her mouth and drops her hands back to the keys.

"'He tried to scare her with an inane remark about health that he knew she would ignore, but she had sensed his presence long before he'd made it known,'" she reads aloud as she writes, causing him to walk over and look over her shoulder at the screen.

"I was just trying to startle you," he says defensively, before glancing at the rest of the screen. "This is a horror story!" he informs her, pointing at the screen.

"Oh, horrors," she says with a slight smile, before turning around to face him. "Shocked?"

"Well, I was certainly expecting something different," he says indignantly, waving towards the screen again. "I mean, we finally see each other again after something like three years of major touring time for both of us and we spend an amazing night together and I wake up to find you finally typing in the middle of the night again because inspiration struck and I think it's a romance or maybe even your first raunchy sex scene and I read it and it's the beginnings of a horror story!" He pauses for a minute, breathing hard, his arm still stretched toward the screen. "Is that Justin Timberlake?"

Her cheeks flush and she rushes to close her media player. "It's the radio," she says by way of explanation, but she can tell by the glint in his eyes that he knows the truth.

"You have the Justin Timberlake CD?" he asks, a smile lighting up his face.

"No. Shut up. Of course not."

"I just wanna love ya, baby," he sings in a falsetto, an uncanny impression of JT himself.

"It's a mix," she yells, laughing. "Never do that again," she instructs him.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you do know it's only been a week since I left you in Tokyo? That's seven days, not three years."

"I tend to exaggerate," he says, shrugging.

She smiles and finally stands up, one hand holding the sheet closed at her chest.

"I've missed you," he says softly as she walks over to him.

"I've missed you, too," she says, wrapping one arm around his neck.

"Oh, give it up," he says, dropping the hand holding his blanket up and pulling her other hand around his neck.

She kisses him, quickly, before ducking out of his embrace and picking up her sheet.

"Why would you do something like that?" he asks, disappointed.

She smiles over her shoulder at him as she takes her seat in front of the computer screen again. "Because," she starts, her fingers commencing their flying, "I've just finished what you so deftly called 'something like three years of major touring time', and unfortunately for me it wasn't so much major touring time as major 'get your ass in line, Gilmore' screaming time, and after that amazing night we spent last night after a total of seven days away from each other I was struck with a major desire to write a romance or my first raunchy sex scene, but unfortunately I suck at both, although I've never tried the latter, and so I decided to stick to something I can do well, no matter how mind-numbingly boring it can be. You, of all people, as a writer of sorts, should understand where I'm coming from."

"'Of sorts,'" he scoffs. "I will have you know, three and a half minutes of song is not a piece of cake to write. It's like a poem. With music."

She sighs. "We've had this argument thousands of time. I know. We're both writers." She looks up at him and pats his bare chest. "Of sorts," she ads under her breath, after turning around.

He laughs, and wraps his arms around her from behind the chair. "I'm not letting you do anymore work, okay?" he murmurs into her ear, reaching to save her story and turn the computer off.

"Fine," she says, sinking into his chest. "But only for tonight, alright? I seriously have deadlines."

"Oh, yeah, me too," he says as he lifts her from her chair, wrapping himself around her.

"You know, if you really wanted to be romantic, you would carry me upstairs."

"Yes, but romance is only hurt by emergency trips to chiropractors, not helped."

She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck and lets herself slip into his embrace. "Calgon, take me away," she murmurs.

"Okay. I don't know who this Calgon guy is, but I suppose I'll have to do." He leans down and places an arm behind her knees, picking her up.

She squeals, and buries her head into his neck as he starts up the stairs.

"You're gonna point this Calgon guy out to me tomorrow, right?" he continues. "I mean, if you're telling some other guy to take you away, I'm gonna have to beat him up."

"What kind of name is Calgon?" she laughs.

"Exactly," he says. "So I'm expecting it to be an easy fight. And, you know, if it turns out to be that Sherman Williams guy from that episode of Mad About You, well, then, I'll just run away really fast."

"What happened to defending my honor?"

"Oh, I'll send someone else to do it. I've got bodyguards, remember? And, I mean, they're just supposed to beat up people who are doing me harm, but this Calgon guy's doing harm to my manhood. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"Nothing could ever do harm to your manhood," she says as he slides her onto their bed.

"You better remember that the next time you talk to this Calgon guy," he murmurs, seconds before his lips hit hers.


End file.
